


The Vagaries of Sleep

by angstytimelord



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Memory Loss, Secrets, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepwalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstytimelord/pseuds/angstytimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will vows to do whatever it takes to sleep through the night, without nightmares or sleepwalking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rest

Sleep was impossible to find.

Will sighed, turning over in bed and thumping his fist against his pillow. He had always suffered from insomnia, but since getting out of jail, it had become even worse.

Sleep wouldn't elude him like this if he could prove what he knew to be true -- that Hannibal was the one behind the murders, and that _he_ should be incarcerated, behind bars for the rest of his life. The thought never left him, burning into his brain day and night.

Some would say that he was obsessed with proving Hannibal's guilt. Hell, Hannibal would say that himself, Will thought wryly as he rolled over onto his back.

Of course, Hannibal wasn't going to admit that he was the one responsible for all of the Chesapeake Ripper murders. Neither would be confess to framing Will for those murders. But he'd done it, and somehow, some way, Will intended to prove that fact.

He didn't know yet how he'd manage it, but there had to be a way. He'd find that way, no matter what it took, no matter what he had to do.

No matter what sacrifices he might have to make.

He'd already sacrificed his peace of mind, he thought sourly as he turned over again, trying to find a cool spot on the pillow.

No, that wasn't really true, he told himself with a soft sigh. He'd lost his peace of mind long ago, when he had first become entangled with Hannibal, when he'd actually believed that such a repulsive monster was his friend, when he'd been drawn in by Hannibal's lies.

He'd been manipulated, lied to, and wronged in every possible way. And yet that reprehensible reptile still insisted that he was Will's "friend."

How could he ever have been stupid enough to believe _that_?

Will almost snorted aloud at the thought. Hannibal didn't know how to be a friend to anyone. He only knew how to lie, use, and manipulate.

Well, Will Graham wasn't going to be a victim of those manipulations. Not any longer. He sat up in bed, his thoughts coalescing to a single point. He was going to prove that Hannibal was guilty, beyond a shadow of a doubt. And he would put that bastard behind bars.

He didn't care how long it took, or how much sleep he'd lose before it was done. It _would_ be done, even if it took years.

That thought gave him pause. What if it _did_ take years? And what if, within those years, Hannibal killed more and more people?

Will knew that he wasn't going to stop. A serial killer couldn't stop themselves. It was a kind of sickness, and he was sure that for Hannibal, it was a way of life that seemed normal to him. He couldn't kill with such efficiency and impunity unless it felt natural.

A shudder went through him at the thought. The idea of murdering innocent people seeming natural -- even to a twisted, perverted mind like Hannibal's -- was anathema to him.

He could never do something like that. Never.

Which only made Hannibal's murders all the more repellant to him, and made him more determined than ever to see that they were stopped, once and for all.

But one thing was for sure -- he couldn't stop Hannibal if he wasn't functioning at the top of his game, and thanks to the lack of sleep recently, at the moment, he wasn't. He had to find some way to make himself sleep more, to get the rest that he needed.

His sleeping schedule was all out of whack, and he was always tired lately. This had to stop, especially if he wanted to be working at peak condition.

He had to find a way to get more sleep.

Sleep had never come easily for him, Will reflected, staring up at the ceiling again. But since he'd been in jail, it had been even harder to get the rest he needed.

When he had first gotten out, there were the inevitable nightmares about being back behind bars, of finding out that he _was_ indeed a killer, and his knowledge of what Hannibal had done was merely his own mind telling him what he wanted to hear, instead of the truth.

When those nightmares had stopped, the sleeplessness had started. He'd tried everything from counting sheep to leaving the radio on, tuned to nothing but white noise.

Nothing worked. Instead of helping him to get more sleep, everything that he'd tried only seemed to make him even _more_ restless at night. He supposed he should be grateful that he hadn't started walking in his sleep again. That would be the last straw.

if he did that again, then he would be seriously backsliding. The last thing he needed was go back to those habits he'd developed when Hannibal had been a part of his life.

When Hannibal had been inducing his seizures, and who knew what else.

Will's hands curled into fists at the thought; just remembering the things that Hannibal had done, the way he'd been duped, made him blazingly angry.

But that anger wasn't going to help send him to sleep, he told himself firmly, closing his eyes and forcing himself to relax. That was what he needed to do right now; he needed to get some rest, and think peaceful thoughts to help himself drift off.

That was going to be harder to do than he'd thought. But somehow, he'd start getting the rest he needed to function at his best. He really didn't have a choice.

He didn't know how he'd do it, but he'd try whatever might help.


	2. Tactical Error

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has made mistakes in dealing with Hannibal in the past, and he doesn't intend to repeat them.

He had to be careful not to make any errors the next time he saw Hannibal. He had to make Hannibal believe that he still saw them as friends.

That wasn't going to be easy to do, Will thought with a soft sigh. Hannibal was, unfortunately, an intelligent man; it wouldn't be simple to hide the fact that everything about him repulsed Will, made him want to pull away and never look at that monstrous face again.

But he'd have to do it. He couldn't get Hannibal to slip up and make fatal admissions, or at least let a few clues slip here and there, if he didn't.

He had to pretend that still trusted Hannibal.

Will knew that he wasn't good at dissembling; trying to pretend that he still had any kind of trust in that monster was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done.

But he _had_ to do it. He had to make Hannibal believe that they were still friends, that there was still something there that drew them together, even after Hannibal had framed him for murder, nearly made him lose his mind, and induced potentially fatal seizures.

He _hated_ Hannibal. He despised that bastard with every fiber of his being. But somehow, he had to act as though he didn't whenever they met.

Somehow, he had to seem as though he wasn't irrevocably changed.

How was he going to do that? Hannibal had to know that he had changed in a myriad of ways, simply by being incarcerated in a place calculated to drive him insane.

But he hadn't gone insane, Will reminded himself. He had found clarity there, away from Hannibal and all of his lies and manipulations. He had to keep telling himself that; Hannibal had made a grievous error when he'd sent Will to prison.

That repulsive bastard would discover that he'd made far too many errors, at some point. Will was going to be the winner of this game. He was determined to be the victor.

A game? No, he didn't want to think of this in that light, Will told himself. This wasn't a game. This was his _life_ , and Hannibal would no longer be allowed to guide it.

Hannibal was no longer a part of his life.

Oh, he had to _pretend_ that the bastard was still in life, had to force himself to act as if they were still friends. But nothing could be further from the truth.

This time, _he_ was going to be the manipulative one. _He_ would be devising ways to make his enemy's life fall apart, not the other way around.

He was done with Hannibal's machinations and manipulations. Never again would he believe a word that such a hideous monster said, or trust him in any way. He knew better than to do that now; he knew what being foolish enough to trust Hannibal would lead to.

There would never be trust, or any kind of friendship, between them again. He'd learned the error of his ways in believing that there ever had been.

Will Graham was finally taking his life back.

There would be no more manipulations, no more lies that he would countenance. From now on, he would never believe a single word that came out of Hannibal's mouth.

He wasn't seeing Lecter for sessions any more; that was how the beast had gotten into his head before, when he'd been stupid enough to let his guard down. He would never enter Lecter's home alone again, and that animal would never be welcome in his home.

That was how the monster had managed to induce a seizure and intubate him, then get Abigail's ear into his stomach. By being _invited_ into his home, his sanctuary.

Well, that wasn't going to happen again. Ever.

It had been a grave error in judgment for him to ever trust Lecter. He knew that now, after traveling a long, hard road that hadn't been of his own making.

But this time around, he wasn't going to make any more tactical errors. After all, forewarned was forearmed, Will told himself firmly. He knew now just what Hannibal was, knew what kind of monstrous evil resided within that blackened, corrupt soul.

He would defeat that evil. He would send it to hell, or at least make sure that it was imprisoned behind bars, where it couldn't do any more harm.

And he would never make the error of trusting Hannibal Lecter again.


	3. Sweet Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will knows that he won't be able to rest until he has his vengeance on Hannibal.

Will sighed as he lay in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling.

He'd told himself that he was going to do whatever it took to develop a decent sleeping schedule, to be at the top of his game and feel rested.

But he hadn't realized how hard it was going to be to achieve that goal. How long had it been since he'd had a decent night's sleep? It was before he'd even met Hannibal, he realized. Sleep had always been something that seemed to elude him, even when he was a child.

Maybe it was simply because his brain tended to be in overdrive all the time, even when he wasn't suffering from a potentially fatal disease.

That thought made him wince. He didn't want to remember thnose days.

But maybe it was best if he _did_ remember them, Will told himself, frowing up at the ceiling. Those memories would keep his purpose fresh in his mind.

He was going to make Hannibal Lecter pay for putting him through such hell, for inducing those seizures and not teling him that he was suffering from encephalitis. If it had taken much longer for his condition to be revealed, he could have _died_ from it.

That still made him angry; the knowledge that Hannibal had used him for an _experiment_ , just to see how far such a disease would develop.

Hannibal had left him wandering in the darkness, not knowing what was wrong with him; that in itself was enough to make Will despise him.

Being a doctor -- or at least having the gall to call himself one, Will thought with a snort -- Hannibal should have been above that. He should have told Will of his affliction as soon as he knew what it was, rather than letting it get worse and worse over time.

But then, Hannibal had been pursuing his own agenda, Will thought bitterly. One that culminated in framing his so-called "friend" for the murders _he_ had committed.

Well, he was a free man now. Everyone knew he was innocent.

The problem was that not everyone believed Hannibal was guilty. Some people were starting to suspect him, but that wasn't good enough for Will.

He wanted to see Hannibal behind bars, see him sinking into the darkness of the soul that Will had been forced to experience when he had thought he would never get out of jail. He wanted to see that bastard sink, see the darkness swallow him alive.

That would be his vengeance, and it would be sweet. Seeing that darkness overcome Hannibal would bring a light to his own soul. It might be petty, but he didn't care.

Once that vengeance was achieved, Will was sure that he would sleep like a baby.


	4. Betrayal of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will feels nothing but anger towards the people who have betrayed him.

Safe. That stupid, treacherous bitch wanted to know if Hannibal was _safe_.

She had never worried about _his_ safety. Not once. Not even when she knew that he could very well have gotten the death penalty. No, she had been too busy spreading her legs for Hannibal, turning her back on someone she'd said was a friend.

Will snorted derisively, then pushed himself away from the kitchen table. He wasn't going to think about her any more. She wasn't his time or trouble.

He'd never been truly interested in her, and she'd known it. He had considered Bloom a friend, of course, but nothing more than that. The kiss they'd shared had been an experiment on his part, a final analysis of whether or not he could be interested in a woman.

That experiment had failed miserably.

It had let him know, once and for all, that women were most definitely _not_ his sphere of interest. The kiss had been repulsive, horrible.

It had been like kissing a cold, dead, rubbery fish. Will didn't know if other women would feel the same, but that one kiss had been enough to let him know that there was no spark of attraction between him and this woman. He thought that he'd hidden the fact well.

But apparently, he hadn't. Not with the way she had turned against him when he'd most needed a friend, and had deliberately started fucking his worst enemy.

He had counted on their friendship, held on to it. To find out what a hideous, treacherous, lying bitch Bloom was had cut him to the quick. He might not have been romantically interested in her, but he had trusted that her friendship with him would last.

Well, that had obviously been a vain hope. He'd been wrong to trust someone who cared about nothing but getting laid, he told himself with a sneer.

She hadn't been able to get it from him, so she'd taken revenge.

And yes, he was angry about it. He had a right to be, Will told himself. He hadn't deserved to have his trust and his friendship betrayed like that.

He had every right to be angry; the kind of betrayal that she'd perpetrated on someone she had claimed to care for, someone she'd said was a friend, wasn't something that could be overlooked. But Will couldn't help wondering if his vengeance was already playing out.

After all, she was fucking a killer. She might refuse to believe that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper, but Will knew better.

He'd tried to warn her. He'd told her that Hannibal wasn't safe, and she'd ignored him and acted like a whiny, petulant child who was being denied her favorite candy.

Well, he'd done his duty. He'd warned her, told her that Hannibal was dangerous and that she should stay as far away from him as possible. But he knew that she wouldn't listen. She would be spreading her legs for Hannibal again as soon as she could.

That wasn't his problem any more. If he still considered her a friend, then he would be concerned. But at this point, he simply didn't care any more.

The feeling was liberating. He had put friendships behind him.

It actually felt _good_ to know that he could exist without them. Even though he supposed that he and Jack Crawford could still be considered friends, in a way.

He and Jack were united on a mission to catch Hannibal, to trip the bastard up and make him lose his way. Sooner or later -- and Will truly hoped that it would be sooner -- they would catch him, expose his crimes to the world, and put him behind bars.

If that hurt her, then he didn't really care .She had made a foolish decision, and allied herself with his worst enemy. She was no longer his friend in any way.

Will couldn't really bring himself to feel sad about that; the only emotion that seeped through at the thought was anger. Someone who had once called themselves his friend, and he had a right to be angry about being treated so shabbily.

If she ended up assisting Hannibal in any way, and went to jail because of it, then Will couldn't feel sorry for that, either. She would get what she deserved.

His lips curved into a smile at that thought.

Karma would eventually come back around to bite the bitch in the ass, and he wanted to be there to point and laugh when it did. She had made her bed, and was now lying in it -- though Will knew that it wouldn't be very comfortable in just a short while.

Well, let the slut get what she wanted while she still could, Will thought with a shrug. That was all she'd ever wanted from him -- just sex, nothing more.

When she hadn't been able to get what she wanted, then she had dumped his friendship like it hadn't even existed. He didn't need fake friends like that. He'd had far too many of them in his life, and it was far easier to jettison that kind of needless baggage.

Instead of feeling angry, he should feel .... free, he mused.

If anything happened to her from her association with Hannibal, he would feel sad that the killer had taken a life, but he wouldn't feel guilty, or responsible in any way.

He'd warned her away, and his anger over the situation hadn't abated. But just as she had made a decision to distance herself from their friendship, Will had done the same. He no longer considered her a friend, and he would feel no guilt when she met her untimely end.

Will was sure that she would. And other than the anger at knowing that the Chesapeake Ripper had killed again, he would feel no guilt over that end.

In fact, he was sure that he'd sleep like a baby.


	5. Times of Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the adversity he's faced has only made Will stronger -- and made him ready to face Hannibal again.

Will gazed into the mirror, studying his reflection.

He liked what he saw there. He saw a man who was in control of his life, a man who had finally taken the reins and was done with being manipulated.

He'd had enough of letting Hannibal Lecter, and anyone else who was on Hannibal's side, use and abuse him. He had thrown off that yoke of subservience; he had become his own man, and he was no longer simply going wherever the tide happened to take him.

He was done with that, he told himself, squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath. He had pushed those who would use and betray him aside.

This time, he was playing the game by _his_ rules.

There would be no more capitulating to what others wanted, no more denying himself and putting his own needs aside. He'd had more than enough of that.

He had changed, Will reflected as he turned away from the mirror. He was a completely different man from the person who had been thrown under the bus to protect a criminal who everyone refused to see for the monster that it really was.

But all of those troubles he'd been through, all of the adversity he'd faced .... it had strengthened him. It had turned him into a person he was proud of.

He liked who he had become because of that adversity.

Most people probably couldn't say that about themselves, he thought as he headed out of the bathroom and down the stairs. Most people didn't like themselves very much.

At least, not the people he'd met. That was why they were always searching for others to approve of them, trying to push themselves up the ladder of what they considered acceptance. He had been like that at one time, but now, that person was no more.

He was accepting himself for who he was, the dark side along with the light. Though he wasn't going to give in to that dark side. He was better than that.

If he gave in to the darkness that he'd almost let overtake him when he was in prison, then he would be no better than that repulsive Lecter monster.

Hannibal _wanted_ him to give in to that darkness, to become what Hannibal wanted him to be. He had intended all along for Will to become a killer, to be remade in _his_ image. But he was stronger than that, Will told himself firmly.

He wasn't going to be manipulated into being what that snake wanted him to become. No, he was going to be who and what _he_ wanted to be.

He was stronger now, and he knew what he wanted.

He wanted to turn the tables on Hannibal Lecter, to show the world what a repulsive, perverted monster he really was. He wanted to rip off that human mask.

He wanted to expose Hannibal as the Chesapeake Ripper, to have the world know of his crimes. He wanted to see Hannibal behind bars, where he rightfully belonged -- the same bars that Will had been trapped behind when Hannibal had framed him.

Most of all, he wanted to see Hannibal diminished, to see him suffering from the loss of his freedom, just as Will has suffered when he had been wrongfully imprisoned.

He was strong enough to do that. He knew he was.

All of the times of trouble that he'd been through at Hannibal's hands had only served to make him a much more formidable enemy than he'd ever been before.

He was ready to face Hannibal Lecter, ready to face whatever that monster could throw at him. This time, _he_ was going to be the one to play mind games -- and he would win them. He would beat Hannibal at his own game. 

It would be his revenge. And even though that dish was best served cold, Will knew that it was going to taste incredibly sweet in the end.

He was strong. He was prepared. And he was ready to fight back.


	6. Brought To Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will vows to bring Hannibal to account for his crimes, no matter what it takes.

Staying one step ahead of Hannibal was going to be a challenge.

Was it one that he was up to? Will frowned as he braked for a red light; he wasn't sure that he was quite ready to answer that question yet.

He didn't think that Hannibal realized just how much he knew. If he did, then he was doing a remarkably good job of holding back that knowledge, and Will didn't think his nemesis was that good of an actor. Even Hannibal couldn't hold back the expression in his eyes.

If he realized that Will still believed he was the Chesapeake Ripper, then there would be a confrontation. And Will knew that it more than likely wouldn't go his way.

He had to make Hannibal believe that he no longer felt animosity towards him, that he wanted everything to be as it had been before Will had been framed and sent to prison for Hannibal's crimes. He had to lull his enemy into a sense of peace.

That wasn't going to be easy to do, given his resentment towards Hannibal. But he had to manage it. He had to lure Hannibal out into the open, so to speak.

He had to make Hannibal trip himself up somehow.

How was he going to manage that? Hannibal had years of practice at being crafty and cautious; he knew exactly how to hide the evidence of his crimes.

But sooner or later, he had to make a mistake, Will reasoned. One thing that he'd learned about killers in the time that he'd spent working with the FBI and chasing them, as well as profiling them, was that all of them would, at some point, get sloppy.

And Hannibal was a man who obviously took great pride in his crimes, Will told himself. His own sense of self-worth would be what brought him down in the end.

He would slip up, and Will would be there to catch him in the act.

That was what he wanted, what he _needed_ , more than anything. He needed to be the one to bring Hannibal justice, to prove that his accusations were true.

But that was going to be one of the biggest challenges he'd ever faced. Hannibal Lecter was a serial killer unlike any he had ever faced before -- his crimes were larger than life, more horrific than any others Will had ever seen or had to deal with.

Only a mind as devious as Hannibal's could devise some of the things that the Chesapeake Ripper had done. No one else could come up with things like that.

After all, some of those crimes had the semblance of art, as though the killer was creating a display. He'd crafted those scenarios lovingly, putting time and effort into them.

He should have known long before he did that Hannibal was the Ripper, Will thought bitterly. But he had let their so-called "friendship" put a protective bubble around Hannibal, which was the last thing he should have done. He should have been more vigilant.

Because he'd let his guard down and had been foolish enough to trust, he could have paid for that trust with his life. He would never forgive Hannibal for that.

Well, his eyes were wide open to the truth now.

He wouldn't be blinded again. He knew that. He was fully aware of what Hannibal was, and he was going to bring that monster to justice somehow.

The hard part would be actually achieving that goal. Bringing Hannibal to justice for all of the crimes he had committed, the lives he had taken, would be the biggest challenge he'd ever faced. It was a daunting task, and for a moment, Will doubted his ability to see it through.

He couldn't think that way, he told himself firmly. He had to believe that he would bring Hannibal to justice for what he had done. He had to believe in himself.

If he didn't, then he was defeated before he had even started.

He wasn't going to let Hannibal get away with all that he'd done. He wasn't going to let that monster go free, to live his life and harm even more people.

It wasn't just about what Hannibal had done to him -- it was about all the lives that he'd taken in the past, and would continue to take far into the future if he wasn't stopped. And it seemed that Will was the only one who was prepared to do whatever it took to stop him.

No one else was going to help him, that was for sure. Maybe Jack would, once he had more evidence. But he had to gather that evidence first.

He had to present Jack with some kind of proof that Hannibal was the Ripper, other than what was in his own mind. His memories told him what he needed to know, but Jack couldn't get inside his head. He had to get more proof than that to convince the other man.

But he would do that, Will vowed to himself. No matter how big of a challenge it was, he would rise to the occasion and meet that challenge head-on.

He would get Jack the proof he needed, and Hannibal would be brought to justice.

That was really what he wanted more than anything, to see that monster behind bars, where he had once been. He wanted Hannibal to suffer that same fate.

What Hannibal had intended to inflict upon him would instead be what he endured for the rest of his life. That would be punishment enough, wouldn't it? Will thought so, but still, a part of him wasn't sure. Hannibal had done so much more than just put him in prison for a while.

He would have his revenge. It would be a challenge to find the evidence for that revenge to be enacted, but he'd be able to do it, some way, somehow.

Even if it was the last thing he ever did.

Will sighed softly as he wound his scarf around his neck, preparing to go out. Jack had called him earlier, saying that he had a crime scene he wanted Will to meet him at. After they examined the scene, they would talk, and he would tell Jack what he had in mind.

He'd made up his mind, and nothing was going to stop him.


	7. Blood on His Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his dreams, the blood is always on Will's hands.

His hands were covered with blood.

Will raised those hands in front of him, staring at the blood, then looked down at the young girl gasping for air on the ground. He didn't know what to do to help her ....

His eyes flew open, and Will found himself staring up at the ceiling, the nightmare dissipating around him. It was a dream that he hadn't had in a while, a dream that brought Abigail back to vivid life -- that moment when he'd seen her father try to kill her.

He'd killed her father, instead. And even though she had told him that didn't make him her surrogate father, it had made him feel a grave responsibility towards her.

Now, thanks to Hannibal, she was gone. He knew exactly how he had been framed for her murder -- and he knew that he was lucky to have been exonerated of that crime, even though he also knew that there were some people who still believed him guilty.

Had it been Hannibal who'd put forth the evidence that had gotten him out? The other man would never say so outright, but Will was almost sure of that fact.

Still, that didn't get him off the hook for everything else that he'd done.

Hannibal had blood on his hands, just as Will had that fateful morning when he had rescued Abigail from her father's murderous intent.

Just thinking about that morning still made him wince. The blood on his hands had been so visceral, so .... _red_. He'd seen blood before, of course; he'd even had blood on him, but not that much. It had never covered his hands and arms in a mantle of red before.

He had almost _felt_ Abigail's life slipping away, and he'd felt, at that point in time, that he would do anything, _anything_ , to save that life.

She had been a young girl who deserved to live.

She didn't deserve to have her life ended so soon, especially not by an evil serial killer who had claimed to love her and supposedly wanted to take care of her.

And _why_ had that life been ended? Will asked himself, blinking back tears. Because Hannibal had known that the authorities were getting too close to _him_ , and he'd needed a patsy to frame for her murder. In the end, he hadn't cared about her at all.

She had merely been a means to an end, just as Will was. Nothing more than an experiment to be ended at whatever time Hannibal deemed appropriate.

No one deserved the kind of treatment the two of them had gotten from Hannibal.

Of course, Abigail had the worst end of it, Will thought with a sigh. She was dead, and there would always be people who believed that _he_ had killed her.

Hannibal's frame-up job had been a good one, he thought bitterly. Who would guess that the monster had been evil enough to intubate him and push Abigail's severed ear into his stomach while he was in the throes of a seizure? It was too barbaric for words.

Yet he'd done it, and without a qualm. He'd sat there calmly and complacently in the courtroom while Will had been told that he would get the death penalty if he was found guilty.

Hannibal would have let him _die_ for crimes that he hadn't committed. That wasn't the act of a friend, or of anyone who had anything but murderous intent in mind.

They'd never been friends. Hannibal had used him, manipulated him, and then had thrown him away like a toy that a child was tired of playing with. Will would never forgive him for that -- or for making him believe, even for a short while, that he'd had innocent blood on his hands.

That had been the hardest thing about all of this -- not truly _knowing_ whether or not he might have actually killed Abigail.

And Hannibal had encouraged him to think that he _had_.

Hannibal had wanted him to believe that he was a killer, to doubt himself in the most horrible of ways. He'd never be able to forgive that monster for causing that kind of doubt. He would never be able to look at his former so-called "friend" in a benevolent way again.

Hannibal had tried to take everything from him -- including his life -- and had very nearly done so. _He_ was the one who had blood on his hands.

More blood than just his, Will thought sourly. Hannibal _was_ the Chesapeake Ripper, and he would prove it, somehow. He didn't know just how he'd be able to go about that, but he was formulating a plan in his mind. A plan that would require help.

If Jack would help him, then he could set that plan in motion.

It would be risky, of course -- but nothing that was worth doing ever came without some risk. He was more than willing to take those risks.

But if his plan worked, then he and Jack would trap the Chesapeake Ripper, and put him behind bars for good -- and Will would be completely exonerated, without any shadow of a doubt. No one would ever again think that he had murdered Abigail, or anyone else.

Of course, he would have to make Hannibal think that he was just that -- a killer -- for his plan to work. It was not only risky, it could end up proving fatal.

But if it _did_ work, then any risk was worth taking.

Maybe, if he was lucky, then once their plan went through and Hannibal was finally behind bars, he wouldn't have problems sleeping any more. He hoped that was true.

He wanted the dreams where he saw Abigail with her throat slashed would disappear; the dreams where his hands were covered with the blood of an innocent, the dreams that made him awaken with his heart in his throat and the coppery scent of blood in his memory.

Will shuddered at the thought, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. He'd been covered in a thin sheen of sweat when he'd jolted awake, but now he was freezing.

He just wanted all of this to be over; the stress was already telling on him, and his plan had barely been formed, much less put into motion yet. He had a lot to get through, and he had no idea how long it would take for his revenge to be exacted.

There would be much more stress and strain in store for him before this was over. He had to be ready for it, had to be prepared to deal with all of that.

There was a good chance that he wouldn't even survive it.

Will pushed that thought away as quickly as it entered his mind. He _had_ to survive, if only to see Hannibal punished for his crimes.

He wasn't going to let go of this life until that happened. He would chase Hannibal Lecter down to the ends of the earth if he had to, so that he could finally see what his soul craved -- Hannibal behind bars, robbed of his freedom, acknowledged as the criminal that he was.

And also acknowledged as a ruthless, heartless monster, who was nothing even approaching a human being. More than anything, that was what he wanted.

He wanted to see Hannibal's evil exposed to the world.

He wanted to see the world acknowledge that the blood was on _Hannibal's_ hands, and not his own. That was the only thing that would give his soul peace.

That blood wasn't on _his_ hands, in spite of these dreams that wouldn't go away. He'd been bloody because he was trying to help. Hannibal, however, was the complete opposite of the spectrum. The blood on his hands came from dealing out death.

Will closed his eyes, laying down again and staring up at the ceiling. It would be a long time before he could go back to sleep; he doubted that he'd be able to.

And if he did, then he knew that blood would follow him into his dreams.


	8. Avenged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will vows to put Hannibal behind bars to avenge not only himself, but all of his other victims as well.

He _would_ avenge himself on Hannibal Lecter.

Will's lips thinned into a grim line at the thought; every time he thought back to the time he'd spent in jail, anger swamped him, threatening to overtake his senses.

He took one deep breath, then another. Anger wasn't something he could afford right now. Anger was hot, red and blazing. He need the calm blue of control at the moment; he couldn't let a haze of anger get in the way of the plans that he had to make.

There were things he had to do that couldn't be done in the heat of anger -- and anger was a danger to him at this stage of the game.

He couldn't let Hannibal know that he was angry. Not for any reason.

He had to make Hannibal believe that he was forgiven, that Will trusted him again. That was going to be one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

trusting Hannibal was something he should never have done, and pretending that he did was going to take every bit of dissembling ability that he possessed. It was hard to be around the other man without wanting to flinch and back away.

He knew too much about Hannibal now, too much that he hadn't known before. And even though he didn't know _everything_ , what he _did_ know repulsed him.

This wasn't a person he wanted to be friendly with. Not in any way.

His visions had shown him too much about Hannibal that he didn't want anything to do with. They'd shown him that Hannibal belonged behind bars.

Not only was he the Chesapeake Ripper, but he was a _cannibal_. Will was absolutely positive of that, even though the only proof he had of it was what his visions had shown him, and what he knew in his gut to be true. Hannibal was nothing more than a monster.

A monster who wore a disturbingly human face. But was it? he asked himself. He'd always thought that there was something .... _different_ about Hannibal's countenance.

There was a reason that the man's face had always slightly disturbed him. And now he knew that reason for that; it was because of what was hidden behind that false mask of humanity. If the mask was ripped away, it was hard to look at what had been revealed.

Will had never known anyone who harbored such evil, and he hoped that he never would again. Knowing one monster in a lifetime was far more than enough.

It was still hard to believe that Hannibal had committed so many crimes.

How could one person be capable of harming so many others? And what was so twisted in his psyche that he was driven to such horrific acts?

Will had a hard time reconciling the calm, sedate man he knew with the crimes that he knew Hannibal had committed; they hardly seemed like something he could do. Yet he had, and Will knew that for a fact, even if no one else wanted to believe him .... _yet_.

His hands clenched into fists at the thought; he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath, to remind himself that this would be an uphill battle.

But he _would_ make people believe him.

It wouldn't be easy to expose Hannibal for the killer that he was; he knew that. And it very well might not even be possible for him to do it alone.

If only he could count on someone -- anyone -- he knew to help him! But even though Jack was coming to believe in him, it wasn't happening quickly enough. Will wanted this to be over and done with, to put that monster behind bars and avenge himself.

No, not just himself, that voice in his head chastised him. He shouldn't be selfish. He should be doing this for all for Hannibal's other victims, as well.

Particularly Abigail, he told himself, his breath catching slightly in his throat. A teenager, a child who had barely had a chance to live before Hannibal had taken her life.

He still felt guilty about that. If only he had been able to see Hannibal for what he was much sooner, and had been able to unmask him, then Abigail wouldn't have died. As it was, Will felt that he had failed her -- and he would carry that guilt with him for all of his days.

He wanted, no, _needed_ , to avenge Abigail just as much as he did himself. And all of the other people who had suffered and died at Hannibal's hands.

They all deserved to be avenged, to find justice for themselves.

All of Hannibal's victims deserved to find peace -- including himself, Will thought with a sigh. But it remained to be seen if he could bring them the justice they should have.

The only way that justice would be served, to his way of thinking, was for Hannibal to spend the rest of his life behind bars. Death was too good for him; that would be too easy. And it wouldn't be as satisfying as locking that monster up for good.

What he really wanted to see was Hannibal in a cage, pacing and restless, knowing that he had lost any chance of freedom, and that he would never kill again.

He wanted to see that monster thwarted and utterly defeated.

That was what any decent person would want to see. Anyone who had any kind of a sense of justice would want to see Hannibal put behind bars.

For him, it would be a personal victory to know that he had managed to defeat someone who had tried their best to turn his life into a living hell. He would be able to stand on the _right_ side of those bars, and let Hannibal know that he had won his freedom.

He wouldn't taunt Hannibal aloud. No, there was no reason for that. But he would let that monster know that he was in the right just by being a free man.

That would anger Hannibal, he knew, but the other man would be helpless to do anything about it. He would no longer be able to harm Will, or anyone else, with his machinations. His evil would be contained; it would never be able to spill over and hurt anyone again.

And _that_ would be Will's revenge. That would be the best way to avenge himself, Abigail, and all of those other people.

To make sure that Hannibal would never again do harm to anyone.

That might not seem like much of a way to avenge anyone, but for him, it was everything. Taking away the freedom of someone who prized it was a terrible blow.

And that was what he wanted, Will thought, clenching his teeth. He wanted to strike a blow that would _hurt_ , a blow that would bring Hannibal Lecter to his knees. He wanted to witness the pain that blow would cause, to see it with his own eyes.

He wanted to look on Hannibal behind bars, and to have the satisfaction of knowing that _he_ was the one who had put him there.

After all, it was what Hannibal had intended for _him_.

That fate was something he wouldn't have to suffer now, and strangely, he thought that was also thanks to Hannibal. He didn't understand the reasoning behind that.

Why would his nemesis have put him in jail, only to have him freed again? Was Hannibal trying to teach him some sort of lesson about the value of freedom? That wasn't something he needed to learn; he already knew that lesson, and he'd learned it the hard way long ago.

Still, being in jail had given him another taste of what it was like to lose his freedom, enough to know that it would be a fitting fate for Hannibal.

It might not destroy him, but it would be a start.

Avenging himself, Abigail, and all of those other victims would be a good feeling when it finally happened. Will wasn't going to deny that. But that wasn't why he was doing this.

He simply wanted to put a killer behind bars, where he belonged. Yet, the revenge side of things would be satisfying, but even more than that, it would feel good to know that he had served justice, that against all the odds, he'd done what he'd set out to achieve.

Maybe once Hannibal was safely behind bars, he would be able to sleep at night. Maybe the dreams would finally leave him in peace.

Or maybe they would seek to avenge themselves on _him_.

**Author's Note:**

> Please see my profile for my feelings on commenters who are rude. If you don't like what I write, too bad. Being a jerk and trying to start a fight by insulting how I see characters doesn't impress me, and I won't bother to respond to that sort of childishness. 
> 
> If you don't happen to like the way I write a character, then backbutton and move on. Being rude isn't going to make me change the way I write; in fact, it will more than likely only make me write more of what you've indicated you dislike. So please, don't waste your time.


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